


Finding Your Land-Legs

by Only_1_Truth



Series: 00Q Merman AU [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: (but only a little bit) - Freeform, Bond happens to like Q's legs, Bond is a conscientious lover who takes this very seriously, But Q has legs this time around, Cuddles and fluff, Disabled Character, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Mermaid Q, Mermaid-AU, Q is new to his life-on-land business, This fic escalates quickly, and all of Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:00:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9058690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/pseuds/Only_1_Truth
Summary: Bond is back in MI6, and his partner-in-crime from his ocean adventure has somehow returned there with him.  He now has a chance to ask Q came to be here... and to show him some of the fun places to eat and drink in London... and to show him a few more fun things that come with being human.  He has to help Q adjust to life on land, after all - to find his 'land-legs'!  Smut ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know that I should be writing the next chapter to 'Aces Grey'... but it's Christmas, and I wanted to write smut. Filthy, wicked smut. And first-time! I haven't had a chance to write first-time! So while everyone else is no doubt enjoying a lovely, wholesome Christmas, I'm writing shameless smut all over the place. Enjoy! 
> 
> [un-beta'ed, because I wanted to get this posted in time for Christmas]

“So what now?” Q asked, head tipped so that those expressive hazel eyes were looking up at Bond over the top of his glasses, under a thick fan of dark lashes.  One eyebrow cocked questioningly, disappearing beneath Q’s mop of hair.  

Suddenly Bond wondered if that hair was softer now that it didn’t have water and sea-salt all over in it.  “Come to supper with me,” James replied on impulse.  It suddenly felt like anything was possible - and maybe it was.  Somehow, Q had gone from a finned merperson to a totally human-looking young man, after all.  The shock of it all should have made James wary and edgy, but instead it lit a fire of effervescent excitement in his gut, and he watched Q’s face with a growing smile as his question sunk in.

Q looked caught-out for a second, and it was hard to tell if his mental imbalance affected his physical balance, or if his new legs really weren’t working - either way, he shifted to lean against the nearby table again.  Big eyes blinked twice before a blush added color to Q’s cheeks, telling Bond Q’s answer even before a small, shy smile stretched the younger man’s (merman’s) mouth.  “Oh, I don’t know-”

“Please,” Bond pressed just a little.  He smiled his own smile back, an encouraging one, an incorrigible one.  

Perhaps Q had already learned that 00-agents said please as rarely as stars fell, because both of his eyebrows winged upwards in surprise for a beat, until he got his expression schooled into something milder.  Still, there was warmth and surprise in his green-and-gold eyes, and after bit of silent stillness, his head twitched… and then nodded.  “Pick me up at seven.  I’m afraid I haven’t gotten the knack for London transportation yet.”  Q’s nose wrinkled fastidious, and the flick of his eyes in Bond’s direction became slightly embarrassed as he added, “Or London food.”

Bond’s smile became fully-fledged.  “I think that I can handle that.”

~^~

Unable to recall the last time he was so eager to see someone, Bond spent the entire day in rare expectation.  Despite that, however, when he came down to Q-branch at six-thirty, he felt no impatience at the sight of Q bent over a project with a team of underlings.  Back on the boat, Q had said that he was an inventor, a making of things, and now 007 was seeing that trait first-hand.  It was still disconcerting, looking at this leggy young man and recalling that the last time he’d seen him, the fellow had been half fish, but the more he listened to his talk and saw him gestured and scribble on what looked like a blueprint, the more Bond was able to combine the two images.  Still, it was all he could do not to shake his head and marvel constantly at what he was seeing.  

It was 7:05 by the time Bond finally decided to stop eavesdropping and interrupt, and by then, all of Q’s team had gone home as well.  It was just Q, writing notes, scribbling things, occasionally balling up papers with little disgruntled noises that made Bond was to chuckle.  If Q noticed the time, he gave no indication of it.  “So this is what you like to do with your time?” Bond asked, just as Q wandered over to a nearby chair and stiffly sat down.

The ex-merman jumped, head snapping around.  “Bond!” he yipped, then searched for a clock before noting, “Ah… it is seven, isn’t it?  Was I difficult to track down?  I meant to meet you by the main door.”

“I’m a 00-agent, Q,” Bond assured him with a smirk, “Tracking people down is second-nature to me.  Are you ready to go?”

Q looked around for a moment, tapping a forefinger absently against his pursed lips, but didn’t get up.  Bond found himself eyeing Q’s legs again, wondering how it worked to go from finned to legged, and if it was easy for Q.  “I suppose I’m pretty much done here,” Q sighed, then seemed to relax.  His smile was soft and shy as he turned back to Q.  “So - where are we going?  I can’t recall what I had for lunch, but it might have been tea.”

~^~

The two of them were surprisingly quiet as they made their way to the carpark, Q bundling up in a cozy-looking Anorak coat and looking remarkably nerdy and normal even before he pulled on a striped toque over his head.  The seasons were getting colder, especially in London.  “I take it you’re not cold-blooded anymore?” Bond asked as they strode toward Bond’s car.  It was the first question that Bond had directly asked about Q’s transformation.  

Bond had been braced for a circumspect answer; after all, not only was Q hiding his heritage in a human skin, but he was now working for an organization of spies.  Therefore, it was a pleasant surprise when Q answered freely and without hesitation, as if opening up to 007 was the most natural thing, “Oh no, I’m definitely endothermic.  And I’m already yearning for spring, because somehow, being warm-blooded doesn’t seem to be making me well-equipped for cold weather.  How do you stand the _wind_?”

The chuckle that came out of Bond’s mouth was a surprise even to him, in that it was wholly delighted.  They were at his car by this point, and since it was indeed cold, he immediately went around to open the door and let Q in.  The new Quartermaster was eyeing the car with almost avaricious interest, but apparently the desire to get in out of the cold and off his feet (Q was definitely starting to drag his heels, as if tired, despite the short walk) outweighed the desire to ogle the Aston Martin.  Bond replied after he’d slid into the driver’s seat himself, “About the same way that you’re surviving it now: lots of layers of clothing and a stiff upper lip.”

That got Q to chuckle, almost giggle, a pleasant noise that filled the empty spaces of the car.  “I’ve been hearing a lot about this British stiff upper lip,” Q opined, and fumbled with the seatbelt only for a moment before figuring it out, adding as he worked, “Namely that you have one in spades.  You’ve quite a reputation, you know?”

“I shudder to think what you’ve heard.”

“Nothing to lower my opinion of you,” Q assured so easily and guilelessly that Bond felt his heart give a squeeze in his chest.  

~^~

Bond had ultimately settled on a good Italian place that he favored, figuring that it would save him from asking Q what he felt about eating fish.  By the time they arrived, of course, Q had gotten quite chatty in regards to the changes that had taken place since he’d last seen Bond, in the shadow of a sinking ship.  “I won’t try to explain the details about how my kind can grow a set of legs like you have, but I’ll tell you that this walking business is a pain in the arse,” Q informed Bond quite factually, as they walked from the parking lot to the restaurant.  Q was watching his legs as if for signs of mutiny as they walked, and Bond was helplessly amused.  Q continued to rant as if they weren’t in public, although he kept his voice pitched low enough that it wouldn’t carry too far, “How do you do it all day long?  With gravity pulling you down, no less?”

Q’s disgruntlement was honestly hilarious, and Bond’s grin became laughter.  Even as he was struck by how funny his newfound companion was (and even as Q took it all in stride, glancing up past his bangs with a playful expression), 007 also realized that the world had never seemed fresher than it did now, through Q’s eyes.  

Not particularly worried whether Bond answered or not, Q continued to jabber, either oblivious to the people around them or just trusting that Bond wouldn’t let him walk into anyone.  Bond chose to believe that it was the latter, because Q seemed too smart to be ignorant; plus, it made Bond’s ego swell.  Q went on, surprising his companion by saying, “Eve made the change and came with me.  She’s done it before - ages ago -  so everyone thought that she’d help me with the transition.”

“Eve’s here?” Bond couldn’t help but ask the obvious.

Q stopped looking at his feet to blink up at him, and for a moment he looked uncertain.  “Yes, Eve Moneypenny is the name she’s going by now.  You remember her, yes?  Dark-skinned, gold-brown eyes, pretty?”

It took a moment for Bond to recognize it, to look at the little nuances of Q’s expression and read the intentions behind it; usually, he’d have read body-language, too, but Q walked just a little bit like a new colt, so his new body ‘spoke’ a bit differently.  Still, 007 was good at what he did, so in the time it took him to angle his head and narrow his eyes just slightly in curiosity, he realized that he was reading insecurity and the start of jealousy in Q’s voice.  Surprised and inexplicably charmed, Bond immediately echoed back, “Fast, usually armed, nearly capable of killing me?  Yes, I definitely remember her.”

As if by magic, Q’s expression softened and cheered.  His mouth stretched into a wide smile, and Bond couldn’t help but smile back.  Q continued to discuss his and Eve’s transition, even if he didn’t elaborate on the transformation process itself, claiming that it was too complicated and ‘unscientific’ to talk about in friendly company.  But apparently Q had been determined to make the change to life on land as soon as he’d left Bond on the beach, and that softly spoken admission made Bond feel as though yet another loop of golden thread were being thrown over his heart.  Q hadn’t come to visit Bond during recovery because he couldn’t, first because he’d been with his own folks and then because he’d been working on another transition into the place of Quartermaster.  “Apparently someone recommended my abilities quite highly to M,” Q said obliquely, looking at Bond out of the corner of one eye as they waited for their table, “I barely had to apply for the position, it felt like.”  

Judging by what signals Q had been giving him so far, Bond took a risk and murmured lowly, “If I’d known you were vying for a position on land here with me, I’d have made clear that I wouldn’t go back to work without you.  After all, how often do I find someone with good looks _and_ brains while I’m in the field?”

Q blushed in the prettiest way, and stumbled on his way in the door - or perhaps it wasn’t entirely an accident, as it ended with Bond’s arm around his shoulders, supporting him, and the newly-bipedal boffin leaned snugly into 007’s side.  He looked pleased to be there, and Bond was happy as hell to have him.

~^~

Even if Bond hadn’t developed a more intricate interest in Q, he would have been vastly amused to eat with him.  Apparently there was quite a lot that Q was still getting used to, cooked food being one of those things.  He was utterly fascinated by the lasagna, and literally groaned when he ate the garlic rolls the place was known for, eyes rolling up into his head and closing in obvious bliss.  Q had a mind like a steel trap, and figured everything out very quickly, but it was fascinating to watch him digging in to food that he literally had no experience with.  Bond couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much, and so sincerely, being caught up in Q’s wonder and enthusiasm, and just a bit chuffed himself to have picked the destination.  While Q devoured not only the food but the information Bond offered on every dish, James was repaid in kind with more random stories, until he felt like he knew Q fairly well.  

He took special interest in the details of Q’s new life, perhaps because it sounded like he’d have ample opportunity to participate in that life: as of right now, Q lived with Eve, but had always seen her as a sister, and was hardly home anyway.  Apparently MI6 had quickly seen the wisdom in putting a futon in their new Quartermaster’s office, realizing that he was a workaholic of epic proportions, who was more likely to sleep on his desk than go home like a normal person.  Q’s diet was likewise atypical, if atypical meant nearly nonexistent.  It was probably a good thing that 007 had come back when he did to whisk the new Quartermaster out to eat, because otherwise Q would have been living on tea and scones alone, the only things that he’d found he liked and could also eat while working.  “I don’t know if that means I’m transitioning well or not,” Q murmured a bit morosely, pushing the remains of his tomato sauce around on his plate, “Really, the biggest problem I’m having with this… land-dwelling…”  The ex-merman gestured around him vaguely, and 007 let his eyes follow the moving hands: expressive and long-fingered, and almost strange to see without the webbing he remembered.  “...Is walking around instead of swimming.”  When Bond looked at him expectantly and urged him to elaborate with an arched eyebrow, Q met his eyes, sighed, and gestured to his long, lean legs under the table, “I have legs, but I have no experience with using them, and I seem to have been given a weak model.  Eve assures me that they’ll strengthen, but it’s frustrating that the very things keeping me up end up shaking and giving out after just a few minutes.”

“You seem to be doing well enough,” Bond reassured magnanimously.

Q saw right through it and rolled his eyes, although he didn’t seem mad.  “Says the man who’s ridiculously athletic and could probably run for hours before tiring,” the bespectacled young man scoffed lightly.

Instead of answering immediately, Bond first transferred his last Ravioli to Q’s plate, just to see those hazel eyes light up.  He hadn’t asked about the glasses yet, but the lenses seemed real, and thick, and he had to wonder if this was another thing that Q was struggling with now that he was human.  “Maybe not for hours,” Bond returned, turning on the charm a little, “but I do have stamina.”  Q’s eyes flicked up, looking surprised for a moment, and then that tell-tale flush rose up to color his cheeks as he caught the innuendo in 007’s voice.  And because Bond was a shameless showman, he immediately smiled a bit more broadly and added unabashedly, “Do you like that I’m athletic?”

The meal ended with Q asking Bond out for drinks.  

Q had never had alcohol before, and was curious to try some.  Having someone he trusted - and maybe even seemed he liked - drinking with him made it the perfect time to try some.

~^~

Q was smashed.  Considering that he had no experience with drinking, it hadn’t taken long for him to reach this point, but it was safe to say that he’d enjoyed the entire journey regardless.  “Tha’ last one was lovely,” Q expounded with a discernible slur messing up his precise consonants and stretching out his vowels.  They had just reached Q and Eve’s apartment building, and while talking, Q was also casting one last wistful look at Bond’s car as the 00-agent carried him away from it.  “Wha’ was the name of the dr…” Q hiccupped, and Bond smiled and shook his head, just buzzed enough himself that he could see where Q was coming from.  It was a happy place indeed.  “...Drink?”

“Sex on the Beach.”

“Ah!  Yes!”  Q stopped staring back at the car and turned to watch Bond instead, eyes very large and very dark under the streetlamps and the night sky.  When Q, from his barstool, had admitted with quiet gravity that his last drink had stolen the last of his ability to use his legs properly, 007 had offered to carry him, so long as Q held on to make it easy.  Now, with precise obedience, Q was making sure his arms stayed locked around James’s neck while he was carried bridal style from the car to his home.  It helped keep Q’s perch secure, but also kept them close, and Bond bore Q’s weight without regret.  “Ya’know, there’s another part of…”  Q was trying to be serious but couldn’t quite manage it.  He lost his words a moment and had to rest his head against Bond’s shoulder, his breath soft against Bond’s neck.  Then he regained focus, catching his sentence again like a child grabbing a retreating balloon, “...Of being human that fustra- fusters- frusates…”

“Frustrates?” Bond supplied with a smile.  Using the arm hooked under Q’s long, presently useless legs, Bond reached out and pushed the buzzer for the merpeoples’ apartment.  

“Yes!”  Q freed up a hand to wag a finger, and despite how close it came to tapping his nose, Bond couldn’t do anything but smile.  “Fusterates!”  Q paused, rocking his head back and blinking at the middle distance.  “What was I talking about?”

Bond happily obliged as they waited for Eve to answer the buzzer, “Something else that frustrates you now that you’re a person like me.”

“Yes!” Q repeated the exact same exclamation as before, but while wearing a goofy delighted smile now.  He pulled his head back forward again, where it seemed to hang heavy on his neck, and this time his forehead pressed up under the side of Bond’s jaw.  His hair tickled the agent’s skin, and suddenly waiting so long to be let in didn’t seem like a terrible fate.  “Something else,” Q repeated Bond’s words to get himself going, before blurting with an alcohol-loosened tongue, “Did you know that we sea-people don’t have the same bits that you do?  The sexual bits?  Sex-on-the-Beach bits?”

Immediately, Bond arched his head back a bit, until he could awkwardly look down at the earnest hazel eyes looking up at him.  Instead of approaching that topic - which Q seemed ridiculously ready to discuss - Bond stared a moment, then said steadily, “Do you have a key, Q?  Because it seems like your roommate is out.”

“Oh! Yes…  Yes, I have that…”  

The new - and newly snockered - Quartermaster was able to find his key, wriggling enough that Bond nearly considered putting him down.  Soon the key was produced, however, and 007 obligingly took it, his own coordination more likely to get the key in the keyhole.  After they were indoors, however, with Q sighing happily at the increased warmth, James decided that he could brave the previous topic, “Any particular reason you brought that up, Q?”

It was something of a miracle, but Q recalled what Bond was referring to by the time they were in the elevator.  “I brought it up ’cause Eve had someone over when she didn’t know I was home.”

“Ah.”  Bond thought that he saw where this was going.  He took the keys still in Q’s hand and opened the apartment door himself when they arrived.  Pushing through it awkwardly, careful not to bump Q into anything, Bond found himself asking more calmly than he’d expected to, “So merfolk don’t have sex the way we humans do?”  Which made sense; it wasn’t as though Q as a merman had ever been anything but naked, and yet he hadn’t had any genitalia hanging out.  

When Bond went to set Q down on the couch, both of them maneuvering in the dark, the younger man made a whining noise and clung to his neck.  It was such a needy noise that Bond quieted the instincts that told him to break the grip, instead bracing himself against the couch and letting himself be pulled close.  Q’s eyes looked black and liquid in the dimness, but met Bond’s very seriously from just a few inches away.  The smell of alcohol was thick in the air between them, and probably the only thing that was keeping Bond’s admittedly flimsy morals on track: kissing the drunk merman would probably be bad.  Still, Q spoke with as much candor as before, not letting his companion retreat, “I wouldn’t really know.  I never really had sex, in my normal body… or this one.”

“Q…”  Bond took a moment to carefully consider his words, shifting his weight slightly, once again considering pulling free and once again staying where he was, even if it was awkward to bend over like this.  “...Are you asking me to have sex with you?”

Damn, Q was hard to resist when his eyes got pleading.  “Well, we’ve already kissed…” the bespectacled young fellow wheedled, shifting restlessly.  Then the shifting became swaying, and suddenly the only thing keeping Q upright was his arms locked around 007’s neck, and the whole conversation became a moot point.  Q was almost asleep.  

Moving slowly and with care, his mouth forming a fond smile without his express permission, Bond coaxed Q into lying down and eventually letting go of him - although he stayed close.  Sitting on the couch, in fact, he ended up with Q’s head in his lap and Q’s mobile in his hand, shooting Eve a quick text.  The text said the usual stuff: This is James Bond - Where are you? - Your irresistibly adorable roommate is drunk and I’m doing a valiant job of resisting him, but you should still come home and take care of him - stuff like that.  He got a quick reply saying that Eve was on her way back, and snapped the mobile phone closed with a sigh.  Looking down at the dark-haired head against his leg, warm breath already seeping through his slacks in gentle little puffs, Bond murmured, “What am I going to do with you?”

Apparently, Q wasn’t asleep: “Fuck me?”  He sounded endearingly hopeful.  

“You’re drunk, Q.  The alcohol is lowering your inhibitions, and you’ll wonder why the hell you asked in the morning,” was Bond’s rebuttal, but not wanting to hurt the young man’s - merman’s - feelings, Bond also reached out a hand and laid it on Q’s head.  A flush of pride filled him as Q wriggled immediately to push his head into Bond’s palm, like a dozy affectionate cat.  As Bond kept speaking, he obliged to card his fingers through wavy locks that were softer than he’d imagined, “But if you still want me when you’re sober, then we’ll talk again.”  Bond briefly considered his companion, thinking back to Q’s transparent wonder at the world, his razor-sharp brain, and before that his stupidly fierce loyalty.  Without thinking, he stroked his hand from Q’s head down his neck, shoulder, and side, fingers feeling a human shape but just as easily recalling where skin had once given way to scales.  Now, he felt Q’s hip beneath his belt and trousers.  

Very quietly but with more sincerity than he usually possessed, Bond finished, “I’ll say yes.”

~^~

“You didn’t warn me about the hangover.”

Q’s groan caught up to Bond just as he exited his mandatory meeting with Psych; the Quartermaster was sitting in the waiting room, glasses pushed up into his hair and face squished into his hands.  Unlike when Bond had seen him before, Q had a cane with him now, testament to his new legs - or perhaps to just how poorly he was coping with being hungover.

“I did keep pushing you to drink water,” 007 defended himself, but added, “although you didn’t seem very interested in the idea.  Have you taken anything for the headache?”

“No,” Q mumbled miserably.  

Bond sighed and resisted the urge to tell Q that he was cute when he was this wobegone.  “Come on,” he said instead, coming over and wrapping a hand around Q’s elbow to draw him up, “I’ve got some painkillers that will help, and I’ve got a better bedside manner than Medical anyway.”

Q allowed himself to be pulled up, and with Bond on one side and the cane on the other, made his way down the halls at a steady shuffle.  He described his symptoms in a betrayed sort of tone, but at least seemed to blame solely the alcohol and not the man who’d given it to him.  Bond staidly reassured him that those things he was feeling were normal, and would pass, and soon they reached the break-room generally reserved for 00-agents.  There, Bond dug around at the back of a drawer until he pulled out a hidden container of pills.  Q didn’t argue when handed two of them, and was told to chase them down with a full glass of water.  

Still looking a bit the worse for wear, Q was leaning against the counter, taking some weight off his new legs, when he turned to Bond and said suddenly, “I remember what we talked about.”

Bond raised one eyebrow and waited for the embarrassment that didn't come.  Q continued to look about as posh as a hungover young man could look, and even though he looked a bit pale, his eyes were clear and bright.

“Does this count as sober?”

“I don’t think you drank enough to still be drunk now, and usually a hangover means the fun part is done.  So yes.”

“So does that mean I can ask you?”  Q verbally stumbled then, losing some of his professional aplomb and blushing to his ears instead.  He looked down to fiddle with his shirt-front as he started mumbling more and more rapidly, “About sleeping with me, I mean.  Sex.  Which I haven’t had - but I’m not asking you just because of that!  I mean…  You can totally say no - don’t say yes just out of pity.  Eve said that was called a ‘pity-fuck,’ and she seems to have a very low opinion of those, although of course I haven’t told her that I’m interested in… well… in being sexually active for the first time with you-”

“Q,” Bond interrupted him, then pointed when Q looked up to cautiously meet Bond’s eyes, “Your legs are going to give out.  Sit, will you?”

Q looked about as embarrassed as one could get, enough that it tugged at 007’s heartstrings as the young fellow picked up his cane and managed to make his shaky way to a chair next to where Bond was sitting, putting them side-by-side around a cheap, knife-scarred table.  There were always casualties in rooms dedicated to assassin-spies; 'injured' furniture like this had to be replaced regularly.  Q continued to look down, his hair hiding his face, and his left hand squeezing his right in a nervous way; occasionally he’d skim his fingers between one another, as if unsettled by the lack of webbing now.  

Bond eased a leg over until his thigh was pressing against Q’s.  He smiled and relaxed as he watched all of the pent-up air rush out of Q’s lungs at just that touch.  His new Quartermaster looked up, suddenly hopeful, eyes shining again.  “So I didn’t totally mess that up?” Q asked, with a silly, rather lopsided smile that 007 fell a little bit… a lot… in love with instantly.  

“No, Q, you didn’t,” James assured, reaching forward, purring inwardly as Q didn’t pull away but instead let the agent’s hand cup his chin, stroke his cheek with a warm, callused thumb.  Bond felt the need to admit, however, with a slight grimace, “But I have to admit, I don’t know the protocol for shagging one’s Quartermaster.”

Q’s smile faltered a little.  “There’s probably paperwork,” he managed to joke a bit shakily.

“Well, considering I always ignore paperwork,” Bond retorted with immediate joviality, “then I suppose I’ll just do what I want, like I always do.”  And then, in a movement that felt long overdue, Bond used his grip on Q’s chin to pull his head a bit closer, and leaned over to swiftly seal his lips over Q’s, feeling the little gasp of surprise followed by a greedy press of Q’s mouth in return.  

The last time they’d kissed, it had been Q giving Bond the air he needed to breathe.

Now, Bond gave it back, and listened to Q release a soft moan of contentment.

~^~

Things might have moved quickly after that, but Q had work and a hangover, and Bond had mandatory tests to pass in order to be reinstated for field work, thanks to his brief, injury-induced leave of absence.  Therefore, after a long kiss (which proved that merpeople shared at least some romantic practices with humans, because Q didn’t seem confused or bothered at all by kissing - quite the opposite), the two returned to their regular routes and schedules.  Bond felt a constant buzzing beneath his skin, however, something headier than alcohol and better than adrenaline.  It made him restless at first, but then made him focused and centered in the way a sniper-sight did: he had a goal, a task, and an important one.  

This was going to be Q’s first time.  

That knowledge softened some of the sharper edges of 007’s eagerness, allowing him to settle into the calm at the center of his storm.  As he passed his physical exams, he found his mind thinking ahead even as his body did the work - so by the end he’d not only impressed his keepers but also had some promising plans laid out in his head.  If Q really liked him enough to want to spend his first time with him, then James was going to prove that his trust was well-founded.  

That, and James had a reputation to uphold.  

~^~

When James picked up Q at five that evening, things progressed pretty quickly, but it was Q who started it.  “I’ve kissed a few people before,” Q had admitted breathlessly, as he’d leaned over in the car to grab Bond’s lapels and generally distract him so that the car didn’t leave the parking garage for at least fifteen minutes.  Bond was more than happy to oblige if Q was setting the pace, and quickly followed Q back until he’d pressed Q's shoulder-blades against the door, hearing the boffin sigh happily - then moan, “But you’re so _warm_!”  Apparently cold-blooded kissing was a different experience, and Bond grinned mischievously against Q’s lips, planning to give Q a lot more warmth and surprises before this was over.  

They managed not to act like hormonal teenagers for the rest of the drive.  “Your flat?” Q asked, when they went a direction he didn’t know.  

“A friend’s actually,” James corrected, but was quick to add, “He’s away on business, and unlike my flat, his actually seems homey and inviting.”

“Aaaaand he won’t mind us… you know,” Q pressed, looking uncertain.

Bond glanced over at Q and grinned.  “My friend’s a double-oh.  Believe me, he won’t mind.”

Ten more minutes saw Q and Bond barely getting in the door before the smaller man was pressed up against the wall, gasping against Bond’s mouth and burying long, curious fingers in his short blond hair.  Feeling the eager hammer of his own heart urging him on, Bond pushed the envelope a bit more, licking into Q’s mouth, then groaning in return when Q quickly reciprocated.  Bond had a lot of experience at this, enough to tell that Q had decidedly less practice - but he found that he loved that, in the same way that he loved Q’s utter fascination with the world.  He was, quite frankly, getting metaphorically drunk on the thought that he was going to give Q something that no one ever had before.  

There was a playful battle of mouths that went on for a few more minutes - until the shaking of Q’s new legs grew pronounced enough that Bond, pressed close to him, noticed.  Q obviously felt the growing weakness, too, and pulled back reluctantly.  His breathing had his chest rising fast and quick against James’s sternum, and although they were pressed close enough together for James to nearly hold Q up from proximity alone, when Q said regretfully, “Sorry… my legs…” Bond was quick to smile and nod his understanding.  

In fact, that was pretty much part of the plan.  “Come on.  I’ve got something that should help with that, in fact,” James said with a wink before backing up and drawing Q forward.  

“I hope it’ll help with this, too,” Q dared to add, nodding down towards the erection tenting his trousers.  The flush to his face gave away that he wasn’t as brash as his words made him out to be, as did the shy way his eyes kept flicking up to Bond’s face and away again, but always came hopefully back.  

So Bond smiled more gently, and his voice lowered to a reassuring rumble as he pulled Q towards an ajar doorway, “That’s what I’m here for, Q.”

The room they entered was one of the biggest reasons that Bond had texted 006 earlier in the day to ask if he could make use of his London flat: the bathroom was made for a king.  The other 00-agent had good tastes, especially in the kinds of things that made life worthwhile, and the massive tub in the center of the room was one of those things.  Q was looking all around, marveling at the tasteful decor of dark marble and pale wood, but James was still paying attention to the wobble in Q’s long legs.  Q squeaked a little and then laughed as the larger man rounded on him and picked him up to set him on the counter by the sink - a decent perch, from which Q could rest his legs and watch as Bond started running the water.  “Are you trying to tell me something about my personal hygiene, James?” Q asked playfully as he watched the water rise.  

Bond glanced over his shoulder, slightly thrilled every time he had to recalculate just how much Q didn’t know about his world.  It was always exciting, always challenging.  “Baths can be for more than just cleaning up,” he replied with a cheeky grin, even as he straightened and shrugged out of his jacket.  When he noted Q’s eyes light with interest, James’s smile turned smug, and he began to work slowly on the buttons of his shirt.  “In fact, with a bath big enough for two, I’d dare say that using it just for washing up would be a damn waste.”

That tricked a chuckle out of Q, even as his eyes seemed glued to Bond’s fingers.  With the careful skill of a true exhibitionist, Bond slowly revealed more and more skin, until he could shuck that shirt, too, leaving him a sleeveless undershirt.  At that point, he strolled forward, his ego getting a nice stroke at the way Q was staring at him fixedly, wide-eyed.  Taking in the way Q’s pupils were dilated, Bond came up until he could nudge in between Q’s knees, settling his hands lightly on the other man’s hips, greedily watching the catch in Q’s breath.  

“Last chance, Q,” he rumbled, leaning in close, his nose brushing Q’s, “If you don’t want to do this with me, I won’t be offended.”  To show that he wasn’t trying to back out himself, however, James angled his head forward to start another kiss, sucking on Q’s upper lip for a moment as he drew back.  More of the hazel in Q’s eyes had been swallowed by black by the time he looked again.  

“I…  I want this,” Q said, his voice a bit shaky, but no lies to be found in his expression or body-language.  Just shyness.  Just inexperience.  Just anticipation and enough fragile trust to make Bond’s heart ache.  “I want this _with you_.  Eve keeps bloody telling me that sex is fantastic anyway, and-”

Q’s tone had been growing increasingly stroppy, and Bond ended up chuckling as the young Quartermaster’s expression followed suit, settling into a grumpy frown.  Bond fixed that by distracting Q with another kiss.  At the same time, he circled Q’s left wrist in his grip, artfully drawing the limb forward until he could push Q’s fingers and palm up beneath his undershirt, feeling the way Q’s hand spasmed in surprise before molding to the skin of his abdomen.  ‘ _He’s new at this_ ,’ Bond kept reminding himself, unable to remember the last time he’d experienced the wild joy of easing another into the joys of sex.  It was an honor, really, and one that he planned to live up to.  With his other hand, Bond stroked along Q’s face until he could bury his fingers in black-brown hair, pulling back just enough to murmur, “How much do you need these glasses?”

 Somehow, Q’s professional tone made a resurgence, even though his eyes were closed and he was speaking between kisses, “Apparently my eyes are also adjusting to the change, and I can’t presently see distant objects like I used to.  My vision up close is decent, however.  Why?”

“Can I take them off?”

By way of answering, Q simply lifted the hand that wasn’t occupied with mapping out the flexion of Bond’s abdominal muscles and plucked off the spectacles himself and placed them by the sink.  That tremor of nervousness was still there, of course, so James worked to alleviate that tension with his mouth and hands.  Q seemed to adore kissing, and was also showing an appreciation for fingers carding through his hair, which was no hardship for 007 to provide.  Once both of Q’s hands got bold enough to sneak up under Bond’s shirt, the 00-agent also obliged to strip the article of clothing away entirely.  

“Exactly how much do you know about how this works?” Bond had to ask, taking the opportunity to reclaim his mouth and speak now that Q was distracted by ogling his naked torso.  It was a pretty nice distraction, all told.  

Q’s blush was adorable, and returned full-force as he dragged his eyes away from Bond’s chest to look up at him as if caught out.  “I… er…”  The smaller man leaned back a bit, kicking his legs alongside Bond’s hips, and looking away as he admitted, “I might have done some research.  A lot of research.  So I think I know the mechanics.”

Embarrassed-Q was officially Bond’s new favorite thing.  As if attached to Q by short strings, Bond responded to Q leaning back by leaning forward himself, bracing his hands on the countertop, and smirking when Q’s eyes widened.  Nose to nose, and Q without glasses, it was almost possible to remember him as he’d been back on the ship: a merperson right down to his long, finned tail.  “And have you tried any of it out?  On your own?” 007 purred, then realized that Q might not get the insinuations, and backed up to elaborate, “Have you masturbated?”  It didn't sound as sexy to just say it, but being candid was preferable to confusing his new partner.  

The shudder that went through Q’s frame was unmistakable from this distance, and answered Bond’s question even before Q replied breathily, shyly, “Yes.”  

Eyelids falling to half-mast, Bond moved one hand to Q’s thigh, brushing slowly upwards towards his pelvis.  “And how did it feel?”

Q’s breathing got faster as Bond’s hand moved, and then he whined when Bond stopped just short of his crotch.  “Amazing,” he nonetheless squeaked out obediently.  His hands were starting to dig into the flesh around Bond’s ribs, making Bond glad that this body didn’t include the claws Q had had as a merman.  

“Hold that thought,” Bond murmured, pecking Q briefly on the lips before disengaging entirely.  The tub would overflow if he didn’t turn the water off.  

When Bond turned back, water no longer running and tub radiating a promise of heat, Q was still leaning back on his hands, looking physically content even if his eyes were almost fever-bright with interest.  He started jiggling one foot when he realized that he had 007’s attention again, little tells speaking of nervousness.  “Okay, Q?” Bond asked, just to check in.  

“Yes,” came the pleasantly sincere answer, followed by the slightly embarrassed admittance, “Just at a loss as to what happens next.  I’m starting to realize that there were gaps in my research.  I know what goes where… in sex…”  Q stumbled over the word and turned red again, and Bond couldn’t help grinning at the response.  “...But the little details leading up to that were sorely lacking in my reading.”

“Well, next, people who want to have sex usually lose a lot of clothing,” Bond supplied, to which Q made gestures and noises meant to translate that he _obviously_ know that, even as he rather clumsily began pulling at his clothing.  While Q was pretending to be in a huff, Bond leisurely stripped, keeping his eyes watchfully on his less experienced partner.

Once, long ago, before spies and missions and MI6, Bond had had a girlfriend.  Just a regular girlfriend.  They’d both been young, but she’d been a virgin, too.  Knowing that James was not a virgin, she’d asked him to make her first time good.  That memory still came back to him as one of the… most honorable things he’d ever done.  It felt strange to think about it in those terms, and he’d certainly never admit it out loud, but he remembered how important it had been to him to use all of his skills to show this girl exactly how good being with another person could be.  People today joked about the Great James Bond ruining women for other men (and sometimes ruining men, too), but all that really mattered to him was giving people a good taste of one of life’s rawest, most visceral joys.  To James, this was as important as showing a blind person a sunrise the first time they regained their eyesight.  

Q was stripped to the waist, and had to slip off his perch to escape his trousers and pants.  He’d stopped sniping at Bond’s teasing comment and had gone quiet, bashful in a way that showed not only in flushed skin but in the way he dipped his head, hunched his shoulders, and turned his toes inwards as he stood.  James, in just his pants now, padded forward with all the care of a man approaching a newborn, skittish foal.  “Can I do that for you, Q?” the 00-agent asked, gently, quietly, and probably more respectfully than anyone thought he could speak.  By now, James was standing in front of Q, impinging on his personal space, but also bending his head down to his, so that his words almost nuzzled at the boffin’s ear.  From this close, even with Q facing downwards, he could hear his quick and shaky inhale before Q nodded, let go of his own belt, and seemed at a loss as to where to put his hands now.  With careful motions, Bond reached forward, stroking his fingertips against the back of Q’s hands - watching them twitch and flex, sensitive - before expertly undoing Q’s belt.  Q swayed a little, and after first Bond optimistically thought it was because Q was overwhelmed by his skills, but then Q mumbled, embarrassed, “Sorry.  My legs…”

The reminder had Bond nodding and adapting his plan to the situation.  “Put your hands on my shoulders,” he ordered quietly, and began to sink downwards.  On the path to his knees, he leaned in for another kiss, this time dodging Q’s mouth and pressing his lips to the younger man’s jaw, then his collarbone, and downwards to mark his passage - even as he made note of places to return to later.  Q had seemed almost startled by his own reaction at one point, gasping sharply as 007’s mouth sealed briefly over a nipple.  Soon Bond was kneeling in Q’s shadow, gently undoing Q’s belt and pressing one more kiss to the just of Q’s hipbone.  Q’s hands were on his shoulders by now, too, unconsciously kneading the muscles, and Bond resisted the urge to purr.  Instead, the agent flicked blue eyes upwards and said seriously, “I won’t be offended if you tell me to slow down, Q, so just say the word.”

Q’s face was flushed, his eyes lidded, and it was a thrill to see him so debauched already.  He was able to snark a bit still, however, nodding towards where Bond’s cock was straining against his pants and commenting, “Are you sure about that?  You don’t look eager to stop.”

“Same could be said of you,” Bond replied, dropping Q’s loosened belt to the floor and leaning forward - eyes never leaving Q’s - to nuzzle at the pronounced bulge in Q’s trousers.  Q’s eyes fluttered closed and he huffed out a breath, swaying forward to put more weight on Bond.  “Eager is different from willing,” Bond made the distinction as he stopped teasing in favor of getting back to undressing Q, watching as Q’s eyes drifted open again when the stimulated stopped, “Even if you just want time to think-”

“Thinking is getting a bit difficult.”  Q’s lopsided smile was priceless.

Bond smirked back and finished without a hitch, “ -Then I won’t begrudge you a bit of time.  This is meant to be fun.”  To punctuate that last assertion, he unzipped Q’s trousers and tugged them down his slim hips, while at the same time leaning forward to suck at the skin next to Q’s navel.  By the sudden noise Q made, Bond’s point got across pretty well.  

“You’re gorgeous, Q,” Bond said, when the last of the clothing had been stepped out of.  Bond still had pants, and was starting to hate that quite a bit, as he knelt and frankly admired the lean lines of the ex-merman before him.  Bond’s hands were settled on Q’s hips to keep him from shying away (‘shy’ being the key word), and slid one palm down Q’s flank until he could brush against a fresh scar.  “This from those pirates?” he asked, sobering a bit.  Anger stirred in him, an old anger for men already dead - men who had nearly killed Q with no more care than for a caught fish.  

Q stopped trying to be bashful and looked down at the mark.  He moved to touch it, but with Bond’s hand in the way, ended up just whispering his fingertips over James’s knuckles.  “I didn’t get to keep any scales, but the scars have stayed, yes,” he said, quite calmly.  He gestured to the scar on his other side, which had originally been through a fin - now, it was a vaguely oval knot on the skin of his upper, outer thigh.  

Giving Q’s flank one last reassuring stroke, reveling in the light smattering of hair over soft, warm skin, Bond dropped the subject.  He looked up with a grin instead.  “How about we get you into the tub before you catch a chill, or before your gorgeous legs give out?”  

The glib flattery had Q sputtering, but when Bond stood, he allowed himself to be led forward.  The larger man was still slightly overdressed, but living in a society where clothing was largely nonexistent meant that Q got used to his own nudity relatively quickly.  By the time Bond gave him a helping hand into the massive tub, Q was positively liquid with contentment.  “God, this feels wonderful,” Q sighed, sinking into the hot water, his voice sounding so obscenely happy that Bond’s cock gave an interested twitch.  Besides being aroused, Bond was also as smug as hell, because he’d guessed correctly: water was the quickest way to make Q feel happy and at home.   _Warm_ water was the quickest way to get Q to forget about that cold London weather.

“Any room for me in there?” Bond asked, and finally stripped out of his last piece of clothing, standing unabashedly even as he noted Q’s eyes tracing curiously over him.  Q was still getting used to his own human body, and his analytical brain no doubt liked having another body to compare to, even if they already had quite a few differences: Bond, muscular and tanned, golden-haired - Q, lean and pale-skinned, with his waves of nearly-black hair.  With anyone else, Bond might have made some cracks about the way Q was eyeing his cock, too, but decided not to interrupt Q’s watchful learning.  Jokes were fun until they spooked cautious boffins…

The water really did feel heavenly, and Bond knew for a fact that 006’s tub was big enough to fit at least three people, meaning there was ample room for James and Q to sit down across from one another and not feel cramped.  Still, 007 didn’t have to reach out far to find Q’s ankle in the water and give it a warm squeeze, feeling the way tendons tensed… then relaxed.  Much like the rest of Q, which was submersed in water up to his shoulders, eyes have-closed as if nearly asleep.  

Well.  Bond couldn’t have Q fall asleep before having mind-blowing sex, now, could he?

Bond rocked forward, the water rippling in a wave that caught Q’s attention and got him to open his eyes - just in time to meet Bond’s mouth with a surprised but pleased little, “Mmph!”  It was becoming apparently that Q’s new favorite pastime was kissing, but Bond was about to show him that the fun could go further than that.  

“Remember, tell me to slow down, and I will,” Bond mumbled against Q’s lips huskily, right before running a hand up Q’s thigh, this time not stopping to tease.  Q’s shuddering breath ghosted into Bond’s mouth even as the older man slowly brushed the back of his knuckles along the underside of Q’s cock, feeling as it began to stiffen again where relaxation had made it lax.  When Q didn’t pull away or look in the least bit worried, Bond wrapped his entire hand around Q’s cock and gave it a slow, steady stroke - and was rewarded by an open-mouthed sound of pleasure even as Q’s head rocked back, as if beyond his control.  “Feel good?” Bond asked, less because he needed an answer and more to satisfy his own admittedly insufferable ego.  Before an answer could be formulated, Bond nipped at the skin along Q’s jaw, working his way roughly to Q’s ear to say lowly, “I promise to make it feel even better.”  

Q’s voice rose in a high whine and his back arched, as Bond continued to jack him slowly, running a thumb teasingly over the slit ever pull or so, just to watch Q’s hips jerk and shudder.  Bond continue to murmur things to him, his choice of phrases varying from sultry and dirty to fondly reassuring - after all, Q was new to this, and while 007 was quite the opposite, he knew that little things like “Go ahead, Q, you can touch me,” were sentences that the other man needed to hear.  So while Q figured out what to do with his limbs, wet hands soon sliding desperately against Bond’s skin, Bond told him in no uncertain terms how pretty he looked with his cock flushed red and stiff in his fist, and all that pale skin of his growing likewise flushed with pleasure - and the warm water.  Q was coming closer and closer to the edge, his legs now hooked haphazardly around Bond’s hips and fingers digging into Bond’s ribs on one side, flexing shoulder on the other.  Q gasped and almost tipped right over the edge when Bond (remembering Q’s gills and perhaps missing them a bit) stopped whispering in his ear and instead slid lower to suck at his neck.  Pleased as hell that he’d found another of Q’s sensitive spots, Bond gently nibbled along the straining tendon of Q’s neck even as he squeezed the base of Q’s cock just enough to stave off his orgasm.  Q whimpered and shuddered, the water actually rippling around him, and laid his head back against the rim of the tub.  

“Bond… James, please… I need…” he panted out, hips swiveling.  Bond let go of him entirely - which earned him a dark-eyed glare - but only to lower himself in the water and rub their cocks together.  The new sensation made Q’s eyes widened, but touch was touch, and the friction had him arching closer for more.  

Wanting Q’s focus if only for now, Bond rubbed them together gently, but maintained control of the situation (and himself) enough to hold back.  “Q,” he said, waiting until he had blown pupils amidst thin green-gold rings looking at him.  It was a hazy look, but Q was sharp as a razor, and the evening’s activities hadn’t dulled him.  Yet.  “I’m going to put that inside you, Q,” Bond said, again remembering to be informative and gentle, because this was supposed to be fun - new did not have to mean scary, especially not sex.  Bond rubbed his cock a bit more heavily against Q’s stomach to get his attention, and watched as Q’s eyes widened a bit again in realization, mouth opening in a soft ‘O’.  Bond smiled and kissed that mouth, just briefly, before continuing in the same low register, “I want to bury myself in you until I can’t tell where I end and you begin, and I want to make you howl my name when I do it.  Did you research tell you anything about that?”

Q’s answer included a lot of swearing, the blistering kind meant to peel paint off walls, but it all rolled off Bond’s back like water off a duck, and made him chuckle instead of flinch.  He could translate: Q knew perfectly well what he was talking about.  Sealing his lips to Q’s pulse-point, Bond teased his new Quartermaster until Q was rutting up against him and digging half-moon crescents into his sides with his blunt fingernails.  Finally, Bond stopped teasing the sensitive skin of Q’s neck - for now, at least - and also stilled Q’s hips with careful, strong hands wrapping around Q’s hipbones.  He pulled back to meet an amusingly stroppy, impatient, almost demanding expression, and said past his own smirk, “Do you want me to fuck you, Q?”

There was a brief pause and a flicker of Q’s eyes that reminded Bond yet again of Q’s naivete in the subject, but it only lasted a second, then Q pursed his lips, swallowed, and snapped back, “I want you to finish what you started.  Unless your plan all along was to wind me up and leave me hanging?”

The imperial tone did a lot to cover insecurity, but it was there.  Bond’s eyes softened, and he leaned in to surprise Q with a little peck on the nose.  “Not on your life, Q - I promised you sex, and I fully intend to give it to you.  But to make it perfect-”  Which Bond sincerely intended to do.  He kissed Q’s nose again, this time making him squeak indignantly, then let loose an absolutely filthy moan as Bond’s left hand wandered far enough to cup Q’s arse.  He gave it a massaging squeeze before just teasing at the hole beyond with a fingertip.  “-We should move to the bed.  There’s lube there.”

~^~

Bond made a note: a hot-and-bothered Q was a feisty Q, especially when Bond had teased his cock to almost painful stiffness and then wouldn’t even let him finish himself off until they got out of the nice warm water.  Q swatted at Bond at least once (to be fair, Bond had tossed a towel on his head), called him quite a few creative names, and subsided into the most perfect begging when Bond pushed him down onto the bed and covered his nearly-dry body with his own.  

Q on the bed looked like a sin, and somehow, that image of splayed limbs, parted, panting lips, and disarrayed hair was not diminished by the after-images caused by memory: Q as a merperson, half-fish, a long tail and fins strung out below him and scales like colorful freckles all over his skin.  Bond had just the former, only scars and memories to tell of Q’s original shape, but the connection was there, forged in dangerous circumstances and shared respect.  Bond dove down on Q and devoured his mouth like he was drowning and needed air again, and released a happy hum that was more of a growl when he felt Q’s fingers scratching at his scalp.  

They rutted there for a moment, finding some friction that was almost enough for Q, new to this game as he was.  Bond had worried that Q, who’d expressed surprise and distaste at how gravity worked on land, would feel trapped by a solid weight over him, but so far, the young man didn’t seem to mind, so long as Bond held up his weight with his forearms a little.  Leaving Q’s mouth to lick at the side of Q’s neck a moment, Bond fumbled at the bedside table until he found the lube, right where he’d known it would be - sometimes, it was nice to know his fellow 00-agent so well.  “If you ever have sex with someone, and they say you don’t need lube, they’re fucking liars,” Bond felt the need to inform Q quite seriously, wagging the container in front of Q’s nose for a moment, and watching the Quartermaster’s mouth slant in a smirk.  Good, he knew that much, at least.  Q had also started to wriggle in a way that was more anxious than sexually frustrated, however, realizing that this was really, truly about to happen, so Bond took the time to suck one of Q’s nipples into his mouth, sweetly torturing it with tongue and teeth until Q was whining and his hands were scrabbling at Bond’s head.  

“I love that you’re so sensitive,” Bond praised, letting off, but rubbing his lightly-stubbled jaw against the hardened, sensitive nub just to watch Q gasp and arch.  “And I love that you come apart.  Now-”  He stroked a hand up Q’s inner thigh, this time not going for his cock but sliding lower, to the delicate skin behind his balls, well aware that Q twitched and held his breath.  “-Do you trust me to be able to put you back together again?”

Panting quietly, Q lay there a moment.  His cock was standing up proudly from its bed of dark curls, leaking precum and not about to stand down until completion was found, but Bond wanted more than Q’s body with him: he wanted Q’s mind, his soul.  This wasn’t even Q’s true body, really, and this would all mean nothing if Q’s keen intellect, wit, and personality weren’t behind this decision, so Bond paused and grew serious.  

Q had wanted this so far.  But ‘so far’ and ‘all the way’ were not the same, and just because Bond did amoral things for a living didn’t mean he was unaware of that.  

After a long pause, Q nodded, slowly at first and then emphatically.  “Yes,” he breathed, “Yes, please!  I…”

“You trust me?”

Q’s eyes on his, open and guileless, were the most beautiful things James had ever seen.  “I trust you.”  

Relief, pride, and elation unfurled like a flower of fire in Bond’s chest, flushing him all the way to his toes.  His feared that his grin was rather wolfish as he promised, “And you won’t regret it,” then pressed one more kiss to Q’s mouth before working his way down Q’s body, a specific goal in mind.  

Part of what made Bond such a famous (some would say infamous) lover was because he’d long ago learned that one trick was worth his entire repertoire: patience.  Fast, wild sex could be amazing, but the kind of sex that you took your time at was the kind of sex your partner never forgot.  So, thanks to much practice at pushing his own arousal to the back of his awareness, Bond got himself to slow down even before he felt Q’s mounting tension.  Trailing kisses bringing him down to Q’s groin, Bond stroked Q’s inner thighs but didn’t push the envelope just yet.  He had time.  And Q would have a lot more fun if James made good use of that time.  Therefore, at about the same time he flicked open the bottle of lube, Bond suckled the head of Q’s cock into his mouth, a move that apparently surprised Q because he made a noise that Bond hadn’t heard before and nearly arched off the bed.  

One hand prevented too much movement, and allowed Bond to control the situation even as he hollowed his cheeks, fighting the urge to grin smugly as he metaphorically sucked a cry right out of Q, high and ragged and sweet.  Crouched between Q’s legs, Bond felt the shudders go up Q's thigh muscles; a glance showed Q’s hands fluttering near his head, unsure what to do with them.  Bond waited until Q got bold enough to just touch his cheek with the fingertips of one hand before going down, lowering his jaw and flattening his tongue against the underside of the cock in his mouth.  Q was too busy swearing with increasingly garbled language to even notice the lubed finger that stroked between his cheeks, gently nudging at his hole.   _Patience_.  All 00-agents had it, and Bond had it in spades.  He pulled back and sank back down, living on the sounds Q made, full of wonder and shock and utter ecstasy, and only when he was forced to hold of Q’s orgasm again with a hand around Q’s cock did he slip a finger inside.  

“Okay?” he asked, totally serious.  If James weren’t a world-class spy trained to look death in the eye and lie, he wouldn’t have been able to manage the tone, because he was sincerely wondering if he could come just by _listening_ to Q.

Q thrashed his head against the pillows for a moment, eyes tightly closed, as if trying to chase butterfly aways from his face.  “Could you pleeeease stop asking that?” he begged, hands tousling Bond’s hair before cupping his face.  He made a whimpering noise and then tugged at Bond’s ears with the clear hopes of getting him to go back to work again.  

“Now that’s a command I can follow,” 007 murmured wickedly, and worked in a second finger in time to another suck to Q’s cock, ensuring that any discomfort was completely buried in endorphins.  Bond knew for a fact that bottoming sometimes hurt, but that it didn’t have to, and if he had his way, Q would never know the first option.  Therefore, Bond wanted to crow with triumph when he almost immediately found that perfect spot within Q that made his world light up: Bond knew he hit it with his searching fingers when Q’s cry became suddenly soundless, his body startling him into a place of white-noise and trembling muscles.  

“James…  James, I’m going to come,” Q whined, and it was a toss-up whether he sounded distraught, pleading, or just on the fun side of manic.  

“Hang on just a little longer for me,” Bond urged in return, backing off, also realizing that this game couldn’t go on forever - not if Bond wanted to get in on it.  He could have easily brought Q to completion with mouth and hands, but that wasn’t the request for tonight.  Q wanted to be fucked: James intended to give him what he wanted.  Slicking himself up, Bond avoided Q’s prostate for a bit, but continued to work his fingers in and out of him, accustoming Q to the feel.  Q settled slightly, enough to just lie and pant, a slight line forming between his brows as he finally got a chance to really think about what was going on inside of him.  Fortunately, he looked puzzled and thoughtful, but not in pain - or scared.  Before that last feeling could dare raise its head, Bond leaned over Q, kissing him more tenderly than before and saying when their lips parted, “I’m going to make this good for you, I promise.”

“You’re going to ruin me,” Q somehow had regained the presence of mind to be both dryly teasing and unexpectedly insightful.  To be fair, though, the Quartermaster was smiling crookedly.  The openness in his expression was like a hand reaching right into Bond’s chest and clutching his heart.

Bond tried to express that feeling in his next kiss, before deeming Q stretched enough and withdrawing his fingers.  He swallowed Q’s half hearted little whine before saying fervently, “You, I’ll put back together with gold after I ruin.”

“That’s called _Kintsugi_ …” he just heard Q murmur, before lining his cock up with Q’s hole, and slowly sinking in.

Words no longer existed.  Q was hot and tight and exquisite, and James was fighting to remember his patience.  Q had been pretty vocal thus far, but now he tossed his head back, mouth gaping open, and let loose a long, steady cry that was half-gasp, half-keen that just kept spiralling out of him like an unravelling thread.  Giving his own head a little shake to stay focused as he hung over Q on tensed arms, Bond stopped with just the head of his cock sheathed in Q, then eased back just so he could rock back in, setting up a slow motion like waves in a rising tide; each time he came forward again, inexorable, deeper by degrees, until Q was crying out more and more loudly, the muscles of his stomach fluttering and clenching, his long-fingered, pianist’s hands white-knuckles where they clenched on Bond’s arms.  

By the time Bond was fully seated, they were both gasping, and Q’s eyes had rolled back in his head.  “Just… stop a moment,” Q managed to pant out, voice a few pitches higher and words faster than usual.  Bond looked up, stricken with worry for a moment, but Q added in a rush, “Give me… give me a second… to breathe.  Just a few seconds.”

Glad beyond words that Q had remembered his right to control their pace, Bond obediently froze where he was, head hanging down until his forehead rested on Q’s rapidly rising and falling sternum.  “That’s fine, Q,” he reassured on a long exhale.  A shudder of pleasure rose up his spine, riding the euphoria coming from his cock, but he resisted the urge to thrust.  After a few moment, he lifted his head to see Q staring up at the ceiling, seemingly at nothing, but with a growing expression of ecstatic awe on his features.  Bond couldn’t help the answering smile that spread across his face.  “Good now, Q?” he asked.  

“Yes.  Oh yes,” Q replied breathlessly, then hitched his legs up over Bond’s hips until his heels were pressing demandingly against Bond’s arse.  With what Bond was beginning to think of as Q’s ‘Quartermaster’ tone, Q lowered his eyes and focused on Bond’s face, arched on eyebrow, and said, “Well, get on with it, 007.”

“You little shit,” Bond said with all the love and affection he knew how to use, then pulled out far enough to slam back in earnest.  He learned right then that Q was definitely a screamer, and that knowledge delighted him more than the most tightly-guarded secret he’d ever stolen for MI6.

Q didn’t last long at the pace Bond set, but considering how tightly Bond had wound him up (and how practiced Bond was at finding a partner’s perfect spot and hitting it every time), he actually lasted remarkably well for someone who’d never done this before.  On the ride to his climax, Q was beautiful, any shyness or self-control stripped from him and the lean lines of his body standing out as he arched to bear down on 007’s thrusts, to grab at him and pull him close.  Bond took the scratches to his back and shoulders as his just-desserts as Q gasped and screamed his way to his climax, set off by Bond reaching between them and giving the head of Q’s cock one last twist.  When Q came messily between them, Bond let go of his own hard-won self-control and toppled headlong into his own release.  

The world seemed outside of the usual flow of time after that, as if Bond and Q were living in their own little space, carved out of pleasure.  Body still humming, Bond remembered not to crush Q, and instead slipped out of him reluctantly.  Q made a vaguely disgruntled noise at being left empty, and Bond watched with a hungry, possessive, proud sort of fascination as Q’s hole fluttered and clenched around nothing.  Bond pressed the pad of his thumb against it just to watch Q twitch, and to feel the slickness of lube and cum.  

“You okay, Q?” he asked, softly, not wanting to break the atmosphere of spent pleasure even as he leaned over to grab a few tissues to clean them up.  

As Bond swiped cum from Q’s abdomen, Q didn’t move.  This would have been perhaps a bit worrisome if not for the goofy grin spread across the dark-haired man’s face.  “Hmmm,” he hummed as his first answer, then elaborated, “I’m _fantastic_.”

Bond chuckled because he couldn’t help it, “You sound drunk, Q.”

“Tried that.  This is better.”  Q’s eyes fluttered open but didn’t bother to focus on anything.  “Wow,” he breathed, and that set off Bond’s soft laughter again.  Just as Q’s eyes turned to him, looking uncertain in the face of such laughter, Bond tossed the soiled tissues into the nearby bin and followed his instincts: he lay down and pulled Q close, cuddling him against his chest.  He’d promised to make this good, after all, and it would hardly be good to leave Q anxious - and 007 felt that speaking with his body would work better than with his words.  That was his excuse, at least, for ending up with Q in his arms, his chin against still-damp black-brown hair, legs tangled together.  

They didn’t talk about whether this was a one-time thing (James rather hoped it wasn’t).  Or about how it might or might not affect their working relationship (James was pretty sure that he could still follow the orders of his Quartermaster, even if he’d probably be at fault for imagining him naked from time to time).  Or about the fact that Q was technically still a merperson, and that meant someday returning to the sea.  

They just lay there, breathing each other’s air, soaking in each other’s warmth, thinking about the fact that they’d both have to eat soon or miss supper altogether.  

But when Q splayed his hand on Bond’s chest, and pressed an exceedingly gentle, thankful little kiss to the hollow of Bond’s throat, the agent knew that he’d follow Q right out to sea when the day came for Q to return there.

~^~

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kintsugi=the art of taking something broken and filling the cracks in with gold. *** This was originally the title, but since it was such a minor part, I've changed it to what it is now. However, I still love this word - and I think Bond and Q do, too! 
> 
> *goes back to writing 'Aces'*


End file.
